Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

Chapter 775: Michael vs Royal Princess [2]

For one, they knew there was another undead that even the teachers and the academy higher ups did not dare let the young elves challenge.

It was said to be at the peak of Rank Three, but its actual combat capabilities could be said to touch the higher realm, as long as those beings did not use their unique abilities.

That alone was already impressive, and terrifying.

The fact that all of this belonged under the belt of a youth who was not only younger than them by many years, but had also not yet ascended his rank, was difficult to accept.

Elves were proud, but that did not mean they were completely blinded.

A human youth like Michael was different from an elven youth.

Here, age carried a meaning very different from what other races might understand.

Among elves, maturity was not measured by height, physical build, or even appearance. It was measured by time lived. In that sense, it was similar to other races, except that the natural longevity of elves meant that even their commoners lived longer than many supernaturals.

By elven standards, fifty years marked the threshold of young adulthood. Before that, an elf was considered a child, regardless of how capable or intelligent they might appear.

That belief was not symbolic. It was ingrained.

For an elf under fifty, their judgment, restraint, and sense of consequence were believed to still be forming.

And because elves aged slowly, their bodies reinforced that idea.

At fifty, most elves still looked little different from human teenagers or young adults.

Because they looked young, they believed they were young.

Because they were told they were young, they acted as if experience still lay far ahead of them.

That mindset shaped everything.

The fact that awakeners in this realm were only chosen at the age of forty eight to fifty only reinforced that belief.

True adulthood, in the eyes of elven society, did not truly begin until well past one hundred.

And so, the elves gathered below, whispering and watching, all shared one thing in common.

They were all at least fifty years old.

Some were sixty. Some seventy. A few had already passed one hundred. Yet to one another, and to the academy itself, they were still considered young.

That was why their reactions were so heavy.

The elven worldview had always rested on one quiet certainty. Time favored them. Given enough decades, they would inevitably surpass shorter lived races.

So why were they being suppressed by a youth who, by elven standards, had barely begun his life?

He was not even present, which only filled the prideful elves with further indignation.

"These little elves are quite interesting," Caelum said at last, his voice light. "Especially that one who just fought your undead. His law is still crude, but the interpretation is clever. Given time, he might become something worth remembering."

The old woman’s fingers twitched.

Had anyone else spoken of the academy’s students in that tone, she would have corrected them, silenced them, or reminded them exactly where they stood. But the words came from someone older than most of the elves present below, someone who stood on the same level as her rather than beneath it.

She clicked her tongue instead, sharp and restrained.

"Careful," she said coolly.

Caelum chuckled softly.

A calm voice carried across the grey field.

"That’s enough."

The words were not loud, yet they cut through the space with unsettling clarity.

The elves below startled.

Conversations died mid sentence. Several figures flinched, heads snapping up as instinctive caution rippled through the group. For a brief moment, confusion reigned. Then they saw them.

Three figures hovered above the field.

The Sanctuary supervisor stood at the center, her expression composed and unreadable. Beside her was an unfamiliar presence, tall and relaxed, his bearing refined in a way that made even seasoned elves tense instinctively. Slightly behind them stood a third figure.

A half elf.

The sight made several elves hesitate.

The Sanctuary supervisor was well known for her dislike of half elves, so seeing her so close to one came as a surprise.

But every elf present reacted at once.

They bowed to show respect.

"Greetings."

The words echoed softly across the field.

The Sanctuary supervisor gave a small nod in response, acknowledging them.

"Since the human whose undead you have been fighting has already awakened," she said evenly, "there is no need to continue this demonstration. Return to your training."

Her gaze swept across the field, sharp and final.

None of the elves argued.

None dared to question her decision.

As the group began to disperse, murmurs threatening to rise again, a new voice spoke.

"So this is the holy child everyone has been talking about."

The tone was curious, almost amused.

The elves froze.

Only then did understanding fully sink in. The unfamiliar figure hovering beside the supervisor was not merely an observer.

Several elves stiffened when they finally saw who had spoken.

Then, without hesitation, they bowed again, deeper this time.

"Greetings, Your Royal Highness."

A ripple passed through the air.

At first, there was nothing.

Then space folded in on itself, and a figure stepped out of what had been empty air only a moment before.

She was an elf.

Tall and slender, her presence was calm yet unmistakably heavy. Her hair flowed like pale moonlight down her back, silver so pure it bordered on white, adorned with a simple circlet etched with patterns. She wore layered robes of deep green and gold. Behind her, several guards emerged in silence, each one radiating restrained strength.

The moment she appeared, every elf present stiffened.

"Greetings, Your Royal Highness," they said in unison.

Michael glanced around instinctively. Even the Rank Four elf lowered her head, posture respectful and restrained. There was no reluctance in the motion, only acknowledgment of authority that could not be ignored.

Michael hesitated.

He had no issue bowing. Drawing attention was the last thing he wanted, especially in a place like this. He shifted slightly, preparing to follow suit.

Then a voice sounded directly in his mind.

Stay still.